


Superlock

by jadams



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Sherlock - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:39:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadams/pseuds/jadams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock makes a risky deal to save himself and John</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Experiment

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't think of a good name for the story, sorry!

John was restless. His nightmares had been few, but hadn’t gone away completely. He let out an irritated sigh as he threw the blanket to the floor and pulled his legs to his chest. It would be another long night.  
The bedroom door creaked open. Sherlock stood in the doorway, shrouded in the darkness of the night, barely visible.  
“It’s four in the morning,” Sherlock said in annoyed monotone.  
“Yes, I’m fully aware.”  
“You’ve woke me.”  
John squinted in the dark, trying to locate Sherlock’s face.   
“What?”  
“I can hear your sighing.”  
“That’s a bit unlikely.”  
Sherlock flicked the light on, making his way over to John’s bed and taking a seat at the edge. He was in his usual robe, hair disheveled. Now that the lights were on, John noticed a curious look on Sherlock’s face. He looked almost…nervous. Sherlock was never nervous, and if he was, it never showed. Not until tonight.  
“What’s going on?” John inquired.  
Sherlock turned away, running a hand through his dark curls, rubbing his palms together.  
“Well, what is it?”  
“I’ve been doing some serious thinking, John. These past few months.”  
“So nothing new.”  
Sherlock pushed himself back onto the bed, focusing his eyes once again on John. It was a hard decision, but he couldn’t keep these feeling to himself any longer. It would drive him mad.  
“John. You’ve recently broken up with your girlfriend, correct?”  
“Yes,” John groaned, “Thanks for that, by the way.”  
“Yes. Well, I had an…an experiment in mind. I wondered if you’d assist me.”  
“A case?”  
“Yes and no,” he said coolly.  
John was becoming annoyed. It wasn’t like Sherlock to act this way. Cautious.   
“What is it then?”  
Sherlock stood up, letting his robe drop to the ground. He stared around the room for a moment, stared at John, observing. He ran his long fingers over the soft fabric of his pyjamas, fingering the buttons. He wasn’t quite ready. He was nervous. If only John would understand, would make a move.   
Christ, why do I always have to do all the work? Why can’t I be the simpleton, just for once.  
“Sherlock?” John mumbled.   
“Yes. Just give me a moment, John. I need to think.”  
John watched the clock. 4:12. He’d need to be up in just a few hours. Groaning with exhaustion and irritation, he leaned back on his bed, closing his eyes. Suddenly the bed creaked with pressure and Sherlock had pulled himself on top of John. He held his wrists down and stared into his eyes.  
“Sherlock! Christ, what are you doing? Get off!”  
Sherlock said nothing. He simply shut his eyes and lowered his head, pressing his lips to Johns. It was a very short kiss, as John had pulled away and now lay staring up at Sherlock, utterly confused and angry.  
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His expression had softened though; he had quit struggling under Sherlock’s weight. Neither of them spoke and the only sound in their quiet flat was soft breathing.  
“An experiment, John,” Sherlock whispered. He went in for another kiss, feeling Johns thin lips return the pressure.   
John was going through a million emotions at once, heart pounding. What the hell was he doing? Surely he wasn’t gay. But here he was with another man on top of him, kissing, pulling at the soft skin of Sherlock’s lips, gasping when he felt Sherlock’s hand reach up his shirt. John pulled away from the kiss to allow his shirt to be pulled off. He allowed himself a glance at Sherlock’s face and saw the detective peering down at him, like he was studying an interesting specimen under his microscope. There were so many things he wanted to say at that moment but he couldn’t form the words.   
Sherlock’s hands fumbled around Johns trousers until finally, silently, John took his hands in his own and felt them shaking. It was almost disturbing to see him this way.  
“Relax, Sherlock. I’ve got it.” His voice was quiet and broken as he slipped them off and was left in nothing but his briefs. John wouldn’t let himself think about any of this. If he did, his brain would think of a million reasons why this whole thing was unacceptable. Instead, he listened to his body. The growing bulge in his underpants, the way his whole body jumped when Sherlock touched him.   
Jesus, this is unreal.  
Sherlock’s mouth moved down John’s body, leaving a trail of kisses and playfully nipping at the tight skin around his nipples. He moaned quietly and reached his hands into Sherlock’s thick hair. He couldn’t ever remember feeling this aroused, overwhelmed with desire. Soon Sherlock was pulling at the waistband of Johns briefs, digging his fingers into the soft skin. He’d taken his own pyjamas off as well and was now totally naked.  
“Sherlock,” John gasped.  
“Mmm,” he growled softly, sliding Johns underpants down his thighs and dropping them on the mess of blankets and sheets.  
“Sherlock-“  
“Stop talking.”  
Same old Sherlock, even during intimacy.  
John let his head fall back onto the soft pillow. His eyes fluttered shut. Then there was the warmth of heavy breathing, and all at once he was in Sherlock’s mouth. He let himself think of nothing but the pleasure he was feeling right then. In fact, he wasn’t thinking of anything at all. Baker Street was quiet; a few street lights shown through the window.  
Sherlock let his hands explore Johns body while working his tongue. He’d never been the sexual type, he’d never even had a girlfriend. Or boyfriend, for that matter. But upon getting to know John, something stirred in him, not just lust, but serious desire. Love. Sherlock was certain that this new thing he was feeling for John, was love. At first, it was terrible. It got in the way of his genius. His usually intellectual mind was clouded with thoughts of being with John in every way possible. Certain nights, he had snuck into Johns room simply to watch him sleep. To observe him. The sounds he made during nightmares. The gentle breathing. The rise and fall of his chest. It was the closest to intimacy he could get. Until now.  
Johns back arched upwards and he let out a long groan as Sherlock swallowed around him. It’d been a very long time since John had been with anybody, which left him wondering if Sherlock had ever been with someone. It didn’t seem likely.   
John ran a hand through his hair and sighed.  
“Sherlock. Jesus Christ…I…” He trailed off, not sure what to say. What to do. Sherlock wiped his mouth and pulled himself on top of John, resting his face in Johns neck.   
“It’s safe to assume the experiment was successful, then?” Sherlock whispered, sounding oddly delighted.  
John chuckled and rested his hand on Sherlock’s spine, rubbing soft circles around his back and eliciting a relaxed sigh from Sherlock. John had a million questions, but he shut them down. Questions could wait until morning. Now, with Sherlock curled on top of him, all he could do was fall into blissful sleep.


	2. A New Case

There was a slight pressure on Johns left side, causing his shoulder blade to ache. He woke to find Sherlock pushing himself closer. He was still asleep, dark curls sticking in every direction. John smiled and reached a hand out to brush his cheek. Sherlock sighed.  
John hadn’t really had time to digest what happen last night; he was far too caught up in Sherlock. That was the problem. Sherlock. He was attracted to Sherlock. John didn’t mind gays at all but this new realization had his head spinning.   
Well, who cares anyway? There’s nothing wrong with liking men and women, right? Right. Plenty of people do.  
Sherlock sighed again, turning on his back. The blanket slid down, revealing a lean torso decorated in light bruises. Remnants of last night. The sun was shining bright through the curtains, illuminating the outline of Sherlock’s abdomen. Strong, smooth, almost flawless. And those cheekbones, Christ. How had he never realized how utterly beautiful the detective was?   
“John. Morning,” Sherlock whispered, eyes still shut and a slight smile playing across his face.   
“Good morning Sherlock,” John replied, voice hoarse and quiet. It was dreamlike, seeing Sherlock sprawled out next to him, naked, faintly smiling. He raised himself up to check the bedside clock. Nearly noon.  
“Hungry?” John asked.  
“Very.”  
John pulled his pyjama bottoms on and walked into the kitchen to make toast. A few moments later Sherlock appeared, fully clothed. John handed him the bread.  
“You’re dressed,” John said, disappointed.  
“Yes.”  
“Leaving?”  
“I thought I’d take you out,” Sherlock said, grinning. “For a proper lunch. Speedys.”  
John laughed and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let me grab some clothes quickly.”  
They sat at a booth near the window, eating and not saying much. Sherlock spent long periods of time staring at John, dropping his gaze whenever John looked up to stare at Sherlock. They caught each others eyes after a few times and laughed.  
Sherlock’s phone beeped and he pulled it from his coat, frowning at the screen.  
“What is it?”  
“LeStrade.”  
“You’re usually ecstatic for new cases.”  
“I’m usually not on a date, John.”  
John smiled.  
“Right. Well um, suppose we should go.”  
“No. Go back to the flat I’ll be home later,” Sherlock said quickly, wrapping his scarf.  
“What?”  
“I can handle this one.”  
“Sherlock?”  
“John, it’s a minor problem that the police are too stupid to solve. Shouldn’t take but a few minutes.”  
“I don’t care how long it is. Why don’t you want me coming along?”  
John watched that familiar look of annoyance appear on Sherlock’s face. He pulled John into a tight hug and gave him a long kiss on the cheek.   
“No time to discuss now.”  
And with that he pushed open the cafes door and disappeared down the pavement.


	3. Chapter 3

John headed home and tried ringing Lestrade. It went straight to voicemail. He texted Sherlock.  
Not funny Sherlock. What’s going on?  
JW  
John made tea and watched the clock. An hour passed, no text. He was beginning to get very nervous. It was odd enough that Sherlock and he had slept together, but he had hugged him too. Sherlock was not the hugging type. Then again, he wasn’t the sexual type either and that had taken a bizarre turn last night.  
His phone buzzed.  
“Lestrade! Where’s Sherlock? What’s-”  
“How should I know?” Lestrade interrupted, irritated. “You know I don’t get much time off, John. You call me up all frantic asking about Sherlock-”  
“You texted him!”  
“No I haven’t.”  
John froze. Sherlock didn’t lie about cases. He liked having John with him on cases. What the hell was going on? Frantically, he tried calling again.

 

Sherlock ignored his phone. He couldn’t here John’s voice right now. He wasn’t sure what was about to happen. He needed to keep John safe. And Lestrade. And Mrs. Hudson. Even Mycroft. He hadn’t cared for anyone the way he cared for John. He would not let anything happen to him.  
“Sherlock Holmes!” An overly cheerful voice rang behind him. “So nice to see you.”  
“I’m sure.”  
He turned to an unfamiliar face.  
“I was expecting Ruby.”  
“Oh. She’s gone. Straight back to hell, actually. Went and got herself exorcised.”  
The man, or rather, the demon in a meat suit, smiled back at Sherlock.  
“Did she?”   
“Yup. So I’ll be taking over your accounts. Harvey. Of course, I already know who you are.”  
“That so?” Sherlock grinned. He wouldn’t show the demon that, inside, fear was building up to an overwhelming point.  
“Oh yes. We watch you a lot. It’s fascinating, seeing you solve all these cases.”   
Harvey stepped up to Sherlock, their faces inches apart.  
“When In reality…you’re just in it for the homicide. Right? The brilliant Sherlock Holmes! Getting off on all those deaths. We’re not so different, you and I.”  
Harvey cocked his head and smirked, shoving his hands down his suit pockets.  
“It’s not the deaths,” Sherlock breathed calmly. “It’s the game. I’m quite good at it.”  
“Really? You couldn’t beat Moriarty. You’ve gone and put everyone in danger, isn’t that so?”  
“There was no other solution.”  
Harvey laughed, black eyes flickering.  
“Sure there was. You could have jumped. You could have sacrificed yourself for the greater good. But you put it all to chance. You put poor little Johnny in great danger.”  
“Stop!” he shut his eyes and took a calming breath. “I know. I know what I did.”  
“So what? What deal are we making today? Choose wisely! This one’s isn’t gonna be free.”  
Harvey sat in front of Sherlock, legs crossed, grinning like a child with a brand new toy. He was different than Ruby. Too hyper. Too…energetic. Happy in a way most demons aren’t. He was tall and thin. Pale skin. Black hair to match black eyes. And those eyes were all over the place, scanning the deserted crossroads, scanning Sherlock. It made him cringe.  
“I want Moriarty dead.” He said dryly.  
“Sorry mate. No can do.”  
“What?”  
“I can’t do that request. I can make something happen for you, not someone else.”  
“This is for me!” Sherlock screamed.   
“Just not how it works.”  
Sherlock pulled a vial from his pocket with shaking hands, ready to throw the holy water in the demons face.  
“Nope,” Harvey shouted maniacally, pinning Sherlock down without moving a muscle, body wracked with supernatural pain.  
“Really Sherlock? After we saved your life?”  
Now he moved, walking over and pulling Sherlock to his face. His nose was flaring and he stared the detective down with those black pits.  
“We owed you one for killing that pathetic angel. We pulled you right off of that rooftop. Not only that, but we took care of Moriarty’s assassins! And this is how you repay me?”  
“Moriarty is still after me!” Sherlock screamed through gritted teeth  
“Whose problem is that?”  
He didn’t know what to say. He knew it was his fault. He should have jumped, Christ, he was selfish. But he wanted a chance with John. He hadn’t even got to tell him how he felt. And now there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing Hell could do about it. Moriarty would find them. And he would kill them. Probably John first, just to ensure he had hurt Sherlock in every way possible. And Sherlock couldn’t handle that.  
“Please. Please do something.” That was all he could muster, and it definitely wasn’t an easy word for him. But the pain was terrible and blood was running from his mouth and all he could think about was protecting John form the mess he’s caused.  
The demon let Sherlock drop and smiled.  
“Well. I am feeling a bit generous today. And that begging was a nice touch. So I’ll tell you what love, I’ll take care of Moriarty temporarily, and that’s the best I can do.”  
Sherlock dusted himself off. “The catch?”  
“Your soul, of course. In ten years.”  
“And John?”  
“Will be safe and sound. Its only your soul I’m after.”  
“But will he be safe? Once…once I’m gone?”  
“I can’t promise that. But ten years together, hey, that’s a better deal than you’re gonna get anywhere else.”  
“Okay.”  
“Really? You’ve got guts, Holmes. Putting him in danger again, only in ten years you won’t be here to protect him.”  
“I’ll make sure he’s safe by then. I’ll make arrangements. I just need time.”  
“Well okay then! Shall we seal it with a kiss?”


	4. Chapter 4

John had, after four hours of panic-stricken anticipation, finally fallen asleep. Sherlock sat on the floor, not wanting to wake him. They were eye level, and although it had come at a cost, he was ecstatic to be looking at that beautiful face once more. He reached his hand out and gently stroked John’s cheek.   
“I’m so sorry, John. I should have jumped. I should have protected you more. Now what have we got? Ten years? Ten years will never be enough.”   
His voice was almost silent.  
John rolled onto his back and seemed to be waking up. His eyes opened slowly and he groaned, rubbing them absentmindedly until he noticed Sherlock’s presence.  
“Where were you?” He yelled, jumping off the couch. “You lied to me and disappeared! What’s going on Sherlock? Answer me!”  
Sherlock pushed himself up and starred apologetically at John. What could he say?  
“NO. You don’t get to do this Sherlock! Keep screwing with me. I’m done with it! Especially after we slept together! Remember that, Sherlock? If you can suck my dick you can tell me the bloody truth!”  
“I’m sorry, John. I’m sorry. I was trying to make it right. Trying to save us.”  
“What are you talking about?”  
“Moriarty.”   
Tears were filling Sherlock’s eyes, something John had never seen before. His anger was dissipating and being replaced with pity and fear.  
“Moriartys dead. Mycroft watched you shoot him. He told me.”   
“No, I didn’t. I just came home.”  
“So…you got away then?”  
“…Yes.”  
“How?”  
“A little help from some friends.”  
“You haven’t got any friends beside me.”  
Sherlock said nothing. Explaining that a demon owed him one and transported him off the rooftop and back to his flat didn’t seem like a good idea.  
“Okay. Moriarty is still alive and you lied to me about killing him.”  
“Yes.”  
“Right.” John began pacing, trying to decide whether or not to punch Sherlock.  
“You could have told me the truth.”  
“It’s unlike me to run.”  
“So? I wouldn’t have thought you a coward.” John sighed and fell back on the couch. “I’m just glad you’re alright. So what were you out doing that’s going to make us safe?”  
“Police. I informed them about my encounter with Moriarty and they’re taking care of it.”  
“Lestrade would have told me.”  
“It’s much higher up than the local police, John. He wasn’t a part of the arrest.”  
“Uh huh.” He wasn’t convinced, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue either.   
“I’m glad you’re back. And safe.”  
“Me too.” He sat stiffly on the couch, waiting for another outburst. But none came. Instead, John grabbed his chin and kissed him deeply, letting his hands get lost in soft, black curls. Sherlock pulled John onto him, relishing the kiss. Last night he was terrified. Of losing John. Of John rejecting him. Of the deal he had just made. Now he could focus, for real. On nothing but John. The way he kissed. The feeling of his skin. The taste of his mouth.   
They fell asleep on the sofa, John pressed against Sherlock’s back.  
“Spooning with Sherlock Holmes,” John chuckled softly. He yawned and began drifting off, mumbling a sleepy “I love you,” before finally falling asleep.


End file.
